SOUL SURVIVOR
By Tomika Anderson

The mid-’90s belonged to the neo-soul movement—thanks to beloved R&B bohemian types like D’Angelo, Erykah Badu, and Lauryn Hill—but at the center of it was a man many critics dubbed Marvin Gaye’s heir apparent: a wild-haired, 22-year-old Brooklyn cat named Maxwell.

The Haitian and Puerto Rican crooner had it all—full lips, a sexy swagger, and a soaring falsetto that made women throw their phone numbers (and sometimes panties) on stage.  For five years, he ruled the charts with sultry hits, including “’Til the Cops Come Knockin’,” “Ascension (Don’t Ever Wonder),” and “Fortunate,” hypnotizing legions of female (and male) fans with sweaty, dynamic showmanship.

Then one day—after three platinum-selling albums, multiple Grammy nominations, and sold-out world tours—Maxwell went into hiding like bin Laden.  He shaved his trademark Afro and went, fairly incognito, back to living as a civilian—hitting the dating scene, playing pickup basketball games, and going to the movies by  himself.

Now, the 36-year-old has returned to the soul music landscape, and is dispelling myths about his absence, including rumors about drama with his music label.

Sitting in front of me at the posh Trattoria Dell'Arte restaurant in midtown Manhattan, the handsome singer—clad in a gray sports jacket, white button-down shirt, and black slacks—is a bundle of nerves.  He dropped his last CD, Now, just before 9/11.  But he needn’t fear—the new album, BLACKsummers’night, the romantic first disc of a trilogy to be released over the next two years, is bound to get a welcome reception.  One listen to the rich tapestry of blaring horns, lush melodies, and Maxwell’s smooth vocals, and it’s clear that he’s still got it.  Chatting over a plate of Mediterranean sea bass with polenta, Maxwell lays his cards flat on the table.

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